


Missed Opportunities (Holmes/Watson) NC-17

by madam_minnie



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-12
Updated: 2010-01-12
Packaged: 2017-10-06 05:15:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madam_minnie/pseuds/madam_minnie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I seek only to point out..." Holmes said turning to face Watson who remained standing by the door, staring at his feet, looking as small and lost as Holmes felt the minute the pair exited the restaurant earlier in the evening. His feet moved him forward before his brain could logically assess the need to do so and before he could formulate a complete thought, he was standing less than a meter away from his Watson. His Watson. Not hers. <em>Why couldn't the bloody idiot see that!</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Missed Opportunities (Holmes/Watson) NC-17

**Author's Note:**

> Came to me while in the shower and it pretty much wrote itself. It's completely unbetaed so please forgive all mistakes.

Dinner had been a disaster, just as Watson had undoubtedly predicted. Sherlock Holmes pondered what he could have done better on the carriage ride home and nearly missed the lamp light being snuffed out as he exited the wagon. Two pence to the driver while looking up at the window to his parlour provided him with enough time and cover to ascertain that the intruder was likely aware of his arrival. Slipping his gloves into his pocket, he casually strolled to the door, eyes fixed on the wood searching for signs of forced entry. None to be found. His key slid against the tumblers easily, the sound of the locks clicking giving no indication that they had been tampered with.

Stepping through the foyer, he gave his eyes time to adjust while his hearing went on the alert. Upstairs, in his study, the lamp light returned. While he could not see it, he could hear the flame flicker to life, the gas hissing slightly as the wick was lit.

Walking calmly up the stairs, he shed his overcoat and laid it on the banister, his gloves and hat followed. Plotting his attack, Holmes stepped to the door, fingers wrapped around the knob and nearly gasped as the door was flung wide open and Watson stood outlined in the doorway.

"You could have been nicer," Watson murmurred.

"I thought the dinner went quite well," Holmes replied stepping past Watson while unbuttoning his jacket. Laying it on his chair, he filled his snifter and swirled it purposefully before sniffing the contents.

"Of course you would think dinner had gone well," Watson sighed behind him.

"Why are you here?" Holmes asked before throwing the drink back in one long, burning gulp. "Should you not be in her company?"

"Why do you deliberately seek to sabotage my happiness?" Watson asked in that small voice that makes Holmes' chest constrict as tightly as the chest bands Watson's helped wrap him in after a few broken ribs.

"I seek only to point out..." Holmes said turning to face Watson who remained standing by the door, staring at his feet, looking as small and lost as Holmes felt the minute the pair exited the restaurant earlier in the evening. His feet moved him forward before his brain could logically assess the need to do so and before he could formulate a complete thought, he was standing less than a meter away from his Watson. _His_ Watson. Not hers. _Why couldn't the bloody idiot see that!_

"You couldn't just let things be?" Watson asked, finally meeting his gaze, his eyes brimming with unshed tears, glimmering in the lamplight.

Taking a step forward, their breath sharing the same space, Holmes' eyes wandered down to those parted lips before lifting his gaze to meet Watson's again. "When have you ever known me to do so?"

Watson's gasp was the last sound Holmes heard as he closed the distance and pressed his lips to his assistant's. Swiping his tongue along the seam, he tried to coax those stubborn lips apart but Watson remained unmoving, eyes closed and still as the rest of his body. It wasn't until Holmes pressed his advantage and drove his tongue past lips and teeth, groaning as it caressed Watson's that he felt the body pressed between his and the door, return the kiss.

Watson threw himself completely into the embrace, as Holmes knew him to do with everything else in his life. The passion his Watson wielded was intoxicating, far richer than the brandy on his tongue or the meal in his belly. Holmes yearned to ignite the passion with such fervor that their bodies would be consumed by it and Watson's mind would forever retain it. If he could not keep Watson forever, he would keep him for this night.

Sliding a knee between Watson's parted thighs, Holmes molded his body to his lover's and moaned as Watson's hands brought their hips together. Rutting against each other, their mouths locked in a deep kiss, Holmes slid his hands down to grip Watson's backside and when the taller man whimpered, Holmes' heart skipped a beat. Breaking the kiss, their lips swollen, eyes glistening, Sherlock looked into John's eyes and asked, "Does she kiss you like this?"

"Don't," Watson said turning his face, but Holmes would not let him hide from him any longer.

"Does she?"

"Her kisses are fine," Watson replied hoarsely. "She's a lady, her kisses are..."

"Ladylike," Holmes practically growled the word. "Tentative, soft," he added, looking at Watson's kiss-swollen lips and tracing the outline with the tip of his middle finger. "Ladylike," he repeated.

"Yes," Watson swallowed.

"Does she kiss you here?" Sherlock dipped his head and kissed the side of John's neck, just below the right ear--a spot, he'd just learned made Watson's entire body shudder.

"Yes," Watson replied.

"And here?" Holmes asked, seizing the linen shirt in both hands and tearing it open before lowering his lips to the center of Watson's chest. Placing a light kiss on the thin man's sternum, he looked up to meet his gaze. "Well?" he asked with a raised brow.

"No," Watson rasped. "She's a lady," he repeated.

"Then surely, she's not done this," Watson added just before laving a pert nipple with the flat of his tongue. "Has she?" he asked.

Arching his chest into Holmes mouth, Watson hissed. "You know she hasn't!"

"Oh the wonders we can explore dear Watson," Holmes whispered against the fevered skin, leaving open-mouthed kisses in its wake. Kneeling before him, he deftly opened Watson's trousers and fished for that cock he'd dreamt of since catching a glimpse of it in the men's. Watson tried to cover himself, but Holmes pressed his hands, palms down against the wooden door currently supporting Watson's weight. "Do not move those," Holmes ordered then lapped at the tip of the semi-erect prick in his hand smiling when it bobbed and reached for him, as if knowing whom it belonged to.

"Don't," Watson whimpered. "Please."

That 'please' was Holmes' undoing. To the untrained eye, the simple voyeur, that one word could mean please stop. But Sherlock Holmes knew better. He knew Dr. John Watson better than anyone, even better than the lady who would not do this for him. Who had not yet kissed him here, had not yet tasted the salty-musky flavor that was the good doctor. Sherlock knew that one utterance was one of need, of hunger and by all that he held dear, Watson would have whatever he needed. He would have anything and everything Holmes could give and more. He'd already lost his heart to the young medic, why not wager it all?

"Don't stop?" Holmes asked, raising his gaze to meet the flushed face above. "I wouldn't dare stop, my dear Watson." Wrapping his lips around the mushroom tip, Holmes sucked lightly before laving the slit to catch the tangy essence on his tongue.

Watson hissed, his hands curling against the wooden door.

"Just let go," Holmes whispered before devouring the column of hot length and inhaling the earthy musk in the thatch of hair at the root of the delicious prick. Sliding back and forth along the length, he squeezed Watson's hips encouraging his thrusts. Holmes knew the moment, Watson succumbed and humming his pleasure against the thick shaft in his mouth, he let his eyes roll up and meet Dr. Watson's. The long, tapered fingers in his hair, massaged his scalp as his thrusts grew deeper.

Watson needed this. Holmes would let him have it without reproach and he would savor the moment for as long as he was allowed to. Watson's moans grew louder, his hips thrusting faster, his fingers digging into his scalp as Holmes deep-throated him over and over.

When the moans turned into incoherent sounds, gasps and panting groans, Holmes seized Watson's sac and primed the globes within, rolling them in his palm, sliding a finger along the perineum to the puckered flesh beyond. Watson thrust his hips forward so fast, Holmes barely had time to swallow around the flood of Watson's salty essence filling his mouth, his name bellowed in ecstasy.

"HOLMMMMMMMMMMMES!" How he loved hearing his name howled in pleasure like that. How he loved that it was Watson who shouted it.

Licking and cleaning him off, Sherlock lapped at the softening prick, laying kisses along the wrinkled flesh before pressing a kiss to each testicle. "I suppose I don't even have to ask," he said with a smirk, laying on his back in front of the door.

"No, she certainly did not kiss me there."

Holmes smirk was not lost on Watson who rolled his eyes, straightened his trousers and offered Holmes a hand to stand.

"Where are we going?" Holmes asked as Watson led him around the parlour to the bedroom's adjoining door.

"Time for me to find out the places Ms. Adler's kisses missed."


End file.
